I'm making a playlist of songs that have something to do with fishing, but I need some help. My rules are they have to have something to do with fishing, and they have to be halfway decent songs that you can listen to a bunch of times:

I usually listen to Reggae if I take the ipod out with me (which i almost never do unless I am going to spend hours upon hours upon hours in the float tube) because I am out there to mellow out and relax.

Listen to the River - Luka Bloom, from Celtic Christmas II (specific mention of salmon swimming upstream)
Fishing in Morning - Dar Williams, from The Beauty of the Rain
Wade in the Water - Eva Cassidy, from Songbird (prepare to be blown away if you haven't listened to her)
The Fisherman - Leo Kotttke, from 6 and 12 String Guitar

Baby brother 'bout to run me outta my mind
Say can I go fishin' wit' you?
I took him on down to the fishin' hole
now what do you think he did do?
Pulled a great big fish outta the bottom of the pond
And he laughed and jumped 'cause he was real gone

Summertime
And the living is easy
Fish are jumping
The cotton is high
Oh your daddys rich
Your mamas good looking
I said hush little baby
Dont you cry

One of these mornings
Youre bound to rise up singing
Then youll spread your wings
And take to the sky
But til that morning
Nothings going to harm you no
With daddy and mama standing by

Summertime
(sweet summertime)
And the living is easy
(living is easy)
Fish are jumping
The cotton is high
(sky high)
Oh your daddys rich
(your daddys rich)
And your mamas good looking
(your mamas good looking)
I said hush little baby
Dont you cry

Half a mile from the county fair
And the rain keep pourin down
Me and billy standin there
With a silver half a crown
Hands are full of a fishin rod
And the tackle on our backs
We just stood there gettin wet
With our backs against the fence

Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Hope it dont rain all day

Chorus:
And it stoned me to my soul
Stoned me just like jelly roll
And it stoned me
And it stoned me to my soul
Stoned me just like goin home
And it stoned me

Then the rain let up and the sun came up
And we were gettin dry
Almost let a pick-up truck nearly pass us by
So we jumped right in and the driver grinned
And he dropped us up the road
We looked at the swim and we jumped right in
Not to mention fishing poles

Not a song but a poem. Distinction without a difference. William Butler Yeats.

I WENT out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

Every morning at the lake you can see them arrive,
with their trailers and their boats and their four wheel drives.
Skimming cross the water at the break of dawn,
searchin for that legend, a fish they call Big John.

Big John, Big John, Big Bad John

Nobody seems to know where John calls home,
he a 20lb bass lake Cachuma's his home.
He's never been caught by anyone who has tried
it's been many long years but that fish still survives. Big John

Big John, Big John, Big Bad John

Along came Chris he was tough and he was mean,
he had a twenty foot fiberglass fishing machine.
Slid that boat into the water he was soon underway
yelling Big John the end is near your mine today. Big John

Big John, Big John, Big Bad John

Pulled his boat into a cove, picked up his rod and reel.
With a flick of his wrist that line started to peel.
He threw a nickle bladed spinner bait and brought it back in
then a quick as a lightning bolt cast out again for Big John.

Along came Tim in a twelve foot boat,
an aluminum garbage heap barely afloat.
He had an antique cane pole hanging on the stern
with a wire hook a bobber and a little tiny worm for Big John.

Big John, Big John, Big Bad John

Tim pulled that boat into the little cove.
Twenty feet from Chris, they were fishing toe to toe.
Chris looked down and he started to shake,
so he fired up that motor and left Tim in is wake for Big John.

Chris caught alot of bass, but none of them John.
He had an hour to go then the sun would be gone.
So he fished real hard for that hour non-stop.
Then he sat down his rod and headed for the dock without John.

Big John, Big John, Big Bad John.

When he pulled up to the dock, ole' Tim was sitting there,
in his twelve foot boat on his fishing chair.
Chris looked down and started to gasp.
On the bottom of Tims' boat, lay a twenty pound bass.....Big John.

Excellent suggestions, I have some homework to do on I-tunes. Thanks for the poetry/lyrics. The Yeats reminds me of Gerard Hopkins poems we had to rote-learn in high school: "Pied Beauty" and "the Windhover." The only lines I remember? Something about rose-moles on trout that swim. And something was dappled.

Just like Yeats, line 21 in otter's post. Yeats probably borrowed some of Hopkin's verbal thunder, excepting Yeats was thinking about how he didn't get laid and Hopkins was thinking about Jesus...

I have no doubt Yeats would also be into the master of sampling, King Tubby, not to mention Van Morrison, The Cult and Janis Joplin.